A Linear Relationship
by wistfulwatcher
Summary: She'd never looked so vulnerable. Oneshot, for the kink meme.


Will finds her in the auditorium, singing her heart out as tears stream down her face. It's nothing that surprises him, but his breath catches in his throat as the song lyrics reach his ears. He realizes it's Carole King, and that there is no mic in front of Rachel. She is alone on the stage, no band behind her, no Brad at the piano. For a moment he thinks she's singing acapella—why not, she doesn't need music, of course—but then he catches soft piano coming from a small boombox.

Still the image of her, so small on the stage, bright lights on her face, looking so utterly alone makes him take pause. In all the years he'd seen her sing, she'd never looked this…vulnerable.

Will pauses, thinks it really isn't his place to be here, that he should leave, let her be. As he turns to go, Rachel's singing stops, and she sobs. It's heartbreaking, and Will doesn't move toward the door. In an instant he is by the stage, walking slowly trying not to startle her as if she were a doe.

Her eyes are wide and wet, and in fact, that's exactly what she looks like. The realization that he wants to hold her, help her, make her feel better is sudden and startling.

"Rachel? Are you OK?" She tries to fake a smile, nod her head, dismiss him, but he is swinging his legs onto the stage in an instant, pulling himself up and standing next to Rachel.

Now that he's next to her, he isn't sure what to do. As much as he wants to help her, hold her, he knows he can't. He's crossed a lot of boundaries with his students, but he knows if he holds her, if she touches him, he won't be able to stay on the side he needs to.

But even as he thinks of this, she has stopped singing and is looking up at him, those doe eyes glinting in the lights of the stage, her lips red from the salty tears down her face. She twitches like she doesn't want him to see her like this, but at the same time he knows that he might very well be the only person who would deign to ask her what's wrong.

So he does. Her reply is lost in her quivering lip and hunched shoulders, but he manages to make out bits and pieces, enough to know that Finn is to blame and sex was involved.

It's now that he realizes his soul is truly lost, because he has a cacophony of mental images; punching Finn, holding Rachel, kissing Rachel, Rachel in bed, lifting her skirt—

They're all horribly inappropriate, especially with her in front of him, clearly heartbroken, but it is the image of him punching Finn that causes him to pause. He'd pictured Rachel in inappropriate positions before (he'd never admit it, and he had tried to stop, but he was only a man), but he'd never felt this urge to protect her, defend her.

"Mr. Schue?" His attention snaps back to the Rachel in front of him, and he pushes away the image of Finn's bloody nose and the giant grin he imagines Rachel would reward him with, instead bringing his eyes back to hers. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you this," it's an apology he won't accept, of course—he was the one to ask her, and he wouldn't be the one to back away.

So he sets his hand on her shoulder, offers her a slow smile, and leads her to sit on the bench in the wings of the stage. The curtain they pass through is velvety and heavy, and he appreciates the privacy and the safe space it immediately creates.

He prompts her to continue, and he knows it's a mistake. But he can do this, can offer some comfort. She's more than willing to continue, it seems, and she's tripping over her own tongue with her recitation of the previous night when Finn had pressured her, she'd given in, and he'd been nothing but closed off to her today.

Will can only offer a sympathetic frown and soft eyes and he thinks it might be enough because Rachel isn't crying, but rather picking at a loose thread on her skirt. This does nothing but drawn his attention to her thighs, of course, but he brings himself back when she stops talking.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," he offers, not sure of what else to say. She covers the silence with more of the story, and by the time she finishes, he's certain his cheeks are red, his ears are hot, and the bulge in his pants is visible.

He solves the latter by stealthily crossing his legs and leaning forward on his arm, but the more she explains that he left her alone, in her room, _frustrated_, _unable to finish_, the redder his cheeks and ears must be getting.

He knows, of course, that he should have stopped her with words like _inappropriate _and _unnecessary details_ six or seven adjectives ago, but he's so close to her and she smells so sweet and clean. She keeps talking, and that line he's nearing is just inches away now. He's certain one more word about her needing _more_ and he'll offer to help.

She's giving him weird looks as he shifts next to her on the small bench, but she's still talking, and when she starts to complain that Finn didn't even touch her _down there_, he snaps.

His hand is on her shoulder, playing lightly with her hair and he says, "I'm sorry, Rachel. That's not fair to you at all," before he leans in closer, to judge if she still wants this. Her crush was more than a year and a half ago, but he's caught some looks from her every now and then.

His intuition proves right because she leans forward and kisses him. It's nothing he would have expected, all pent up aggression and need, but he isn't about to complain. His other hand matches the right, both hands planted firmly on her shoulders.

That line he's been too close to is shifting beneath him, and suddenly his toe is in the danger zone. He jerks his foot back but loses his balance and now each foot is planted on a different side. That line is directly beneath him and he knows that's as far as he can go.

So he pulls back slightly with a smile, and lets his hands stroke down her arms. Her skin is so smooth, so soft, and he lets his hands rest on hers. "Please, Mr. Schue, not you, too." Her voice is strained and he realizes the bad place he's put himself. That line isn't going to redeem him, not anymore, but he figures it's equally as cruel to back away from her now, like this.

His compromise is his hands stroking her forearms as he gives her a bigger smile. Her lips twitch in response, a thank you, and she reaches for his chest. His smile wavers, and her hands stall, so he reaches up and puts them behind her back. Thankfully she gets his message, and doesn't move to touch him again.

Will keeps eye contact with her, ready for the slightest moment of doubt, but only finds a fire behind her dark eyes, so he slowly brings his hands to the front of her dress. They are both sitting on the bench still, angled toward each other, so one he's unbuttoned her dress, he lets his hand fall to the thigh that's bent, her skirt rising higher.

Her soft gasps are a new kind of music to his ears, and he can't help but swell bigger when she licks her lips at him. The hand on her thigh trails higher, and soon his fingers are brushing the soft cotton of her panties.

It's his groan that fills the air when he realizes he can feel how wet she is through the material. Pushing against the fabric he feels for her clit, a wide smiling crossing his lips when small shriek tells him he found it.

The movement of her hips is sudden and unexpected, but such a wonderful visual. Will holds his hand against her while the other reaches up to her open dress front. Her bra is thin and he can feel her hard nipple through the cotton. He pinches her once, again testing the waters, and moans when he feels her efforts against the fingers on her panties double.

Her hands are still by her sides not touching him, but he sees her twitch to do so every once in a while. Just to remind her, he removes his fingers from her skirt stands up from the bench. She'd shut her eyes at some point, and they fly open at the loss of contact. She must see the hard press of his cock against his jeans, because she reaches for them, but he steps back with a playful, "Uh uh."

He's sure her pout is a joke but he feels a stab of guilt for leaving her in the same situation Finn had, so he drops to the floor in front of her. Grabbing her hips, he thanks God for the thick curtain around them and pulls her to the edge of the bench. Her brow knits in worry, and he thinks he might have to punch Finn a few times.

He wants to tell her not to worry, that she'll like this, that he won't leave her until she's peaked, but the words all sound crass to him. The humor of him deeming just the words he's thinking of "crass" as he fingers his student is not lost on him, but rather than dwell he pushes his fingers back under her skirt to hook into her panties.

He pulls them down and off, setting them next to him on the floor. She's watching him with curiosity but not fear, so he lifts the skirt of her dress back and takes in the slick curls in front of his face and reaches his hand out to touch her for real, no longer hindered by the plain pink cotton panties that were oh so Rachel Berry.

She drops her head back when Will touches her, his finger sliding into her with ease. She squirms a little so he starts to move, angling his hand so his thumb can brush her clit when he buries his finger as deep as he can go.

She's humming now, and he can't help a small smile when the tune is punctuated by a short moan or squeak. The noises aren't helping the pressure beneath his fly, but somehow touching himself to these girlish noises seems worse than actually letting her touch him, so he just pushes a little on the fly resituating himself, and leans forward.

Parting her folds he watches her face as he breaths lightly on her sensitized bundle of nerves. Rachel's eyes are still closed so he lets his tongue dip down and apply pressure. Her hips shoot up on natural response, and he groans against her, his tongue coming out again to lap at her.

Rachel's hips are grinding up against his mouth and he's just trying to keep up with her, unable to get enough as he is lost in her, his fingers digging into her smooth thighs as they close over his shoulders.

He slips a finger into her heat and with a few more laps she is arching her back and clutching at air, trying to hang on to something. In her scramble her hands land on his head and she threads her fingers through his curls.

She is coming down from that high and he is ready to burst but he gently takes her hands and sets them back at her sides. He is afraid to look at her, terrified she's realized what they've done and ready to get his ass fired, so he slips her panties back and her legs and stands up.

"Thanks, Mr. Schue," and it's what he wanted, maybe what he needed, but certainly not appropriate, so he lets himself run his fingers through her hair before leaning down to kiss the top of her head. He turns to flee back to his office, wishing each step was a step back to the right side of the line, but at the same time wondering which side was which, exactly.


End file.
